


John and Karkat Ruin a Party

by palhomo



Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, Boatiestuck, M/M, Oxbridge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-07
Updated: 2012-08-07
Packaged: 2017-11-11 15:06:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/479802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palhomo/pseuds/palhomo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The much loathed, eternally hated, totally lame OXFORD ROWING TEAM. It was populated by a crazy blind girl, an equally crazy clown douche, a hacker who was NOT AS GOOD A PROGRAMMER AS YOU and a big creepy sweaty guy Nepeta was somehow friends with. They all sucked and you didn’t want to talk to them ever. <br/>Most of all you didn’t want to talk to their jerkass coxswain. Karkat freaking Vantas. <br/>Who you definitely do NOT have a thing for. </p>
<p>Oxford-Cambridge rowing AU. In which there is a fierce rivalry between the two teams, and then both of them get invited to one party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	John and Karkat Ruin a Party

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aequoria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aequoria/gifts).



> This is inspired by my chum Aequoria, who created this AU (http://pufflebug.tumblr.com/post/28770054206/johnkat-oxford-cambridge-rowing-au) with Rikka over at Johnkats Anonymous. Alcohol headcanons can be credited to CC and Klone. (http://notanowl.tumblr.com/post/28498490468) Also thanks to Skippy for illuminating us with Cambridge slang.

You knew coming to this party was a bad idea. “It’s my birthday!” Nepeta had insisted. “I’m inviting all the boaties!”

Little did you know she also meant the much loathed, eternally hated, totally _lame_ OXFORD ROWING TEAM. It was populated by a crazy blind girl, an equally crazy clown douche, a hacker who was NOT AS GOOD A PROGRAMMER AS YOU and a big creepy sweaty guy Nepeta was somehow friends with. They all sucked and you didn’t want to talk to them ever.

Most of all you didn’t want to talk to their jerkass coxswain. Karkat freaking Vantas.

Who you definitely do NOT have a thing for.

Much to your dismay, the rest of them were willing enough to mingle, if only to keep Nepeta happy. Dave and the blind psycho even seemed to be hitting it off! It made you sick to your stomach and you were having none of it.

Which is why you are currently situated in the kitchen, perched on a counter with your back resting on the fridge, drinking heavily.

You’re on your fifth Kopparberg (fun and fruity!) when who should come stumbling in but the king of the peanutdicks himself, Karkat. You actually find yourself somewhat pleased with this development. After all, arguing with your fellow cox and telling him just how lame he was will probably be a step up from sitting here drinking alone.

“Yo, Vantas,” you challenge. Well, slur. You’re actually kind of a lightweight what with being kind of a midget and all. But that’s okay, because this dickbag is just as tiny as you.

He turns to you with a sour look. He already looked pretty grouchy when he entered the room, but it magnified tenfold as soon as he caught sight of you. You’re kind of perversely proud of this and catch yourself thinking he looks pretty hot when he’s angry. (Whether this is a sudden revelation or just a drunken slip-up has yet to be seen.)

“The hell do you want?” he glowers, and you do your best to imitate him and put on a haughty, disgusted look. It doesn’t really work and you end up just having a giggle fit, while he looks at you, eyebrow raised, totally unimpressed. Hot.

“I just wanted to let you know how awful you are!” you wave a hand around vaguely, “I am pretty certain that you being here is a threat to the very spirit of the party! Because, uh, you are no fun to be around and probably a serial party-ruiner.”

“You’re the one sulking alone in the kitchen, cockmunch. I’m the fucking life of this party in comparison.”

“More like the ANTI-LIFE.”

“Yeah, and you’re the anti-Christ.”

“Pfft, that was pretty weak!”

“What, and yours wasn’t?”

There’s a silence for a brief moment, before you can’t quite resist launching into... something.

“Man, speaking of the anti-Christ! Did you ever watch The Omen? It is a movie about a guy whose son turns out to literally be the anti-Christ. LITERALLY.” You don’t wait for a response, carrying on regardless, “it is pretty kickass and I highly recommend it, especially the part with the big black dogs chasing the guy. People SAY the original is the best but actually, the sequels are way better. Damien has a MOTORBIKE, for one thing. Motorbikes are basically the coolest thing ever and someday I will own one and get all the bitches. Or possibly I will date somebody hot with a motorbike like Matthew McConaughey’s character in that one chick flick and get to ride on the back. Not that I like those sorts of movies, but you know. Matthew McConaughey is just that great.”

“Hey, don’t talk shit about romcoms, you ignorant twat. They’re easily the best cinematic genre.” He sort of makes a “hmph” noise, bending down to root through the booze cupboard. Hahahahahaha, romcoms. There’s definitely some sort of insult to be found here and you’re about to say something really cutting-edge, but inexplicably, horrifyingly, what comes out of your mouth is:

“Your butt looks GREAT in those jeans, BTW.”

Karkat stands up, can of Budweiser in his hand (boring asshole!) and looks at you sceptically. “Wow, did you honestly just say ‘BTW’ in real life?”

What? ‘Did you just comment on your rival cox’s butt?’ was the real question, here. Sure, it was a pretty nice one and yeah, his jeans were complimenting it and okay maybe he had been looking, but he didn’t mean to actually SAY anything about it.

“Uh, yeah?”

“BTW. I’m going to cry. I’m going to cry for hours on end, mourning the slow death of intelligence and basic fucking appreciation of things that are words and things that are stupid made up nonsense. My tears are going to flood this whole house and you’ll have a brand spanking new river for your team to practice your shitty rowing technique on. Like wow, the literary masters of old are probably turning in their graves right now. Trust an imbecile like you to be one of those utter WANKERS completely ruining the English language! Your total ineptitude with words, does NOT excuse just making them up, John Egbert. Is there an entry in the Oxford dictionary for ‘BTW’? Didn’t fucking think so.”

“Screw your God-damn-bloody-Oxford dictionary. Shakespeare made up words too, you know.”

“Don’t you fucking go there. Shakespeare made words up so they world could make more fucking sense.  Not so he could be a lazy asshole and abbreviate simple phrases, you dumb shit.”

You can’t think of a good response to that, so you decide to just insult his whole area of study. Words are lame.

“Man, englings are such drags!”

“What are you studying then, simpleton?”

“Philosophy?”

“The most useless intellectual pursuit of all. I’m not surprised!”

You give him your angriest look and turn away, taking another swig of your drink. Dissing philosophy is CROSSING THE LINE and as far as you are concerned he can go get his head crushed like Cyrus at the end of Con Air. You’re expecting him to march off after this and go join the rest of his gross Oxford buddies, but to your surprise, he walks over to where you’re sitting and gives you a glare.

“Budge up.”

You oblige with feigned reluctance.

Pretty soon you find yourself sitting next to your SWORN ENEMY, Karkat Vantas. The counter space between the large fridge and the wall is actually pretty narrow and you’d probably be feeling kind of awkward about the proximity if it weren’t for the fact that you’re a little tipsy. You’re definitely not DRUNK, though.  Noooo way.

But Karkat sure is! He’s lolling his head over your shoulder for support and it’s really kind of gay.

“Hey, John?”

“Yeah?”

“As much as it pains me to admit it, your arse is pretty fucking fantastic, too.”

You’re not quite sure how to respond to this declaration and just respond with a vague, “uh, thanks.” You had kind of hoped he’d forgotten about the whole bum thing while he was ranting about you destroying the English language or whatever.

You desperately look for something else to say, something not about butts. Karkat’s scratching his neck and you decide this’ll do.

“Haha, dude. Do you have fleas or something?”

“…Fleas interest me so much that I let them bite me for hours,” he mutters with a quiet chuckle.

“What? Gross.”

“They are perfect, ancient, Sanskrit, machines that admit of no appeal.”

“Uh.”

“They do not bite to eat, they bite only to jump; they are the dancers of the celestial sphere, delicate acrobats in the softest and most profound circus; let them gallop on my skin, divulge their emotions, amuse themselves with my blood, but someone should introduce them to me.”

Oh dear God Karkat was reciting poetry.

_Really weird poetry._

“I want to know them closely, I want to know what to rely on.”

“Hahahaha, are you always like this when you’re drunk?”

“I’m not fucking drink.”

“LOL!”

“I’m going to break everything you own.”

“Nah, it is okay! Poetry is kind of cool sometimes. Do you know a lot of poems?”

“Obviously. It kind of comes with being a lit student. We study poems.”

“None of the others I know recite weird flea poems when they drink!”

“You’re obviously hanging out with the wrong crowd, then. Or maybe it’s just more Cambridge ineptitude.”

“Fuck off!” You’re not sure why, but you start giggling again and fantastically enough, he joins in. Apparently ‘fuck off’ is the funniest joke in the world, because you’re both shaking helplessly with mirth and every time you start to settle down you catch his eyes and the laughter starts up again.

_Eventually_ you both finally seem to shut the hell up, and a comfortably silence develops between you. It’s actually pretty nice! You decide Karkat is actually just about tolerable when he’s drunk.

Maybe he’s tolerable the rest of the time too.

Maybe he’s actually a little more than just tolerable.

“Karkat? You should recite something else! Something pretty.”

“You’re… seriously?”

“I’m so seriously.”

“I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair. Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets. Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.”

You laugh. “Karkat, that is so not pretty. It’s mostly just kind of creepy.” He ignores you, clearly not wanting to break in the middle of a piece.  
  
“I hunger for your sleek laugh, your hands the colour of a savage harvest, hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails, I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.”

He’s actually grinning at you now and you think it might be in a sort of predatory way. He is still really drunk and it is not even that attractive of a facial expression (more silly than alluring!) and he’s slurring some of his words yet somehow you’re kind of going really red in the face ohshit.

“I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body, the sovereign nose of your arrogant face, I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,”

“Hey, Karkat are you…?”

“and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight, hunting for you, for your hot heart, like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.”

“…are you coming onto me?”

He coughs. “I, uh, might be?” He’s actually pretty shy when he’s not vomiting poetry at you and hiding behind all those fancy words and it is basically the cutest thing ever. Karkat is the cutest thing ever and is also totally flirting with you in some inept engling way that’s almost sickeningly cliché yet strangely appealing and that’s it, that’s all the motivation you need to lean forwards and kiss him. 

You try not to think about how you’re completely disgracing the name of the Cambridge rowing team here when you feel him kiss back. Making out with somebody from God-damn-bloody Oxford; Dave would be utterly ashamed. But wow is it totally worth risking your uni cred, because Karkat is the best kisser _ever_. He has probably spent hours carefully studying the snogs in those romance movies of his, and the thought makes you snigger inwardly. Loser.

Though that thought doesn’t stop you from letting him pin you down to the kitchen counter. There is not a lot of space and you’re pretty thankful you are both so small so you can just about fit comfortably despite it being so cramped. Just about. You poke your tongue forward a little in an attempt to deepen the kiss and he seems to accept this move and yesssss everything is great. Karkat tastes like Budweiser and he sort of reeks of it too and usually you’d find that totally off-putting but right now it is _working for you_.

As far as first kisses go it’s sloppy and gross and boozey and definitely not one that’d be featured in any movie ever, but whatever. It’s _hot_. Karkat is your Matthew McConaughey, that is how hot you are talking. He lets out a kind of sexy noise (and wow who makes sounds like that during _kissing_ of all things) and you decide that’s pretty hot too and put your arms around his waist.

And then maybeeeee sneak your hands a little lower because hey like you said he DID have a pretty great butt. He’s not too put out by this and just keeps kissing you, more fiercely than before, and then-

And then there’s a coughing sound. Standing in the doorway is (oh fuck) Dave, looking severely unimpressed and a little disgusted. He wrinkles his nose in what you know fully well to be a completely exaggerated gesture.

“Wow, okay guys. Not quite what I was hoping for on my quest to obtain the shot glasses.” He crosses the rooms to grab a couple, before quickly backing out. “Jesus Christ, I’m going to need so many years of counselling for this.”

You both sit there a little awkwardly. Karkat’s still on top of you, which doesn’t exactly help.

“So…” you begin.

“It follows that I am, because you are: it follows from 'you are', that I am, and we: and, because of love, you will, I will. We will, come to be.”

“Wow, Karkat: are you asking me out???”

“I might be.”

“Well try doing it in plain English next time, numbnuts. And oh man, dating the Oxford coxswain? It’s wrong on so many levels. There’s also the fact that you’re a huge asshole. And a lit student. AND a romcom fan! These are serious potential deal-breakers we have here.”

“Wow fuck you.”

You lean up to plant a kiss on his mouth, missing and hitting his nose. “I will _totally_ be your forbidden romance, dude.”

You make out for another twenty minutes on the kitchen counter. Nobody comes in. 


End file.
